Category: Life

these books, these books, these fucking books. And these books sat happily in the library, with the occasional visit from the occasional cat to keep them company, and then Fred had to go ruin it. He emailed some people who had volunteered to try out his ordering system, and suggested they give it a try. They did so, and I packaged a bunch of books to mail out. On a side note, why did he have to start selling the book on the WEEKEND, when the post office isn’t open? Whywhywhy? And then he emailed the rest of the people who had volunteered to test out the ordering system, and he let them go ahead and make their orders, and all went smoothly, and I packaged many more books to go out, and then we ran down to the post office and dropped them in the box, because we use Stamps.com for our postage, and thus everything except the foreign orders had postage affixed already. But was this enough for Fred? Why, no. No it wasn’t. He had to go and send out an email to his entire book list, and orders began to flow. I was up until midnight printing out invoices (and there will be a plea for help in a minute, believe you me) and stuffing envelopes and making notes for Fred. And when I got up this morning? Another slew of orders screaming my name. Quickbooks is PISSING ME OFF, because for some reason you can’t cut and paste an entire name and address from an email – you can only paste one line at a time, and thus it is easier to print out the email and type the name and address in by hand, which is PISSING ME OFF. Why? WHY? Quickbooks users, is there a way to override this FUCKED UP function? Please say yes, and tell me how in the comments, pleasepleaseplease. And also, I decided by order #10 that I loathe the fucking shit out of Pegasus because it’s difficult and a pain in the ass, and so I downloaded a second version of Eudora to use for company email, and I managed to NOT fuck it up this time, god knows how, and all is going well. Except – and perhaps someone out there can help me with this – is there a way to respond to an email and not have the text of the email you’re responding to copy over to the new email? Because I’m using the signatures function to say “Hi, hey! Your book will ship soon, really!” (only not in so many words), and Eudora puts the signatures down at the bottom of the email, and I don’t want that, so help? Does any of this make sense? I have no idea. I’m averaging 6 minutes per order processing time, and I’m trying to figure out how to lessen that time, because those 6 minutes really add the fuck up. I am the Queen of the packing tape, oh yes I am. 12:30, and I haven’t had a shower yet. I believe I’ll go do that right now. (By the way, the horrified disgust with a soupcon of panic came about when we went to feed the ducks at the pond by UAH on Sunday. We were practically snatched from the Jeep and carried around on the backs of all the freakin’ Canada Geese who were there. There was shit practically two inches deep wherever we walked, and I was wearing sandals. I expected to get my ass nipped by a goose or two, but luckily they decided I was too scary. Thank god.)

* * * I’m waiting for my doctor’s office to come back from lunch so that I can make an appointment. My foot, the one scratched by the stray cat the other day, is aching and partially bright red, so I’m sucking it up. No doubt I’ll report back to let y’all know that I was zapped with a tetanus shot and a series of rabies shots and god knows what else. * * * Stolen from Bon-Bon, who stole it from Uncle Bob. 1) Last dream: I dreamed that Joe Rogan was telling me about his young son who’d died in a horrific accident. And then we went swimming in his indoor pool. And when I say “indoor pool”, what I mean is that he sealed all his windows and doors and turned the water on, and water filled his house. It was oddly cool. 2) Last car ride: Driving home from feeding the cats at the pet store this morning, with a side trip to Publix (grocery store) and Staples (for more padded envelopes). 3) Last kiss: Fred, in front of the pet store as we parted ways, he to go to work, me to come home. 4) Last good cry: I don’t recall – I tend to do the tearing-up thing rather than out-and-out boo-hooing – but I’m sure it was PMS related. 5) Last Missing Library Book: It would have been in high school some time, but I’ll be damned if I can recall. 6) Last movie seen: Final Destination 2, although I watched part of Flatliners last night while I was stuffing envelopes. 7) Last Book Read: Love Invents Us, by Amy Bloom (I’m taking time off from books to get current on my magazine reading. Last magazine read: Reader’s Digest.) 8) Last curse word uttered: “goddamn”, “fucking” and “shit” (part of the sentence “You are such a goddamn piece of fucking shit!”, directed at Quickbooks.) 9) Last beverage drank: Diet Coke. 10) Last food consumed: Turkey and american cheese sandwich, for lunch. 11) Last crush: Paulie Walnuts! (In a non-sexual way, thank you) 12) Last phone call: Last one made: the doctor’s office. Last one received: from Fred. 13) Last TV show watched: The second-to-last episode of season 3, The Sopranos. Also, Sex and the City. I am alternately fascinated and repelled by Evan Handler. 14) Last Item Bought: Padded envelopes. Whee! 15) Last time showered: An hour ago. 16) Last shoes worn: My slip-on sandals from Land’s End (the old, good ones, not the new, crappy ones that gave me blisters on top of my feet; I sent those back.) 17) Last CD played: The Best of Olivia Newton-John. Shaddup. 18) Last MP3 Downloaded: Oh, I don’t do that. That’s illegal and all. But if I were going to, I’d say the remake of “Boys of Summer”, by some group whose name escapes me. 19) Last annoyance: The doctor’s office being closed from 11:30 to 1:30 every day. The nerve! 20) Last disappointment: I am disappointed in how crappily my tape of the The Osbournes marathon (from last week) came out; we can barely hear it. 21) Last soda drank: Diet Coke. 22) Last thing written: A note to Fred about how someone wanted their book signed. 23) Last key used: To my Jeep. I don’t even own a key to the front door of the house, because we come in through the garage all the time. 24) Last phrase spoken: “Oh shut UP, you are NOT freaking out!” (To Fred, who is concerned about my foot.) 25) Last trip to the bathroom: About an hour ago, right before I took a shower. 26) Last sleep: Midnight last night to 6:20ish this morning. 27) Last IM: Probably a year ago, if not more. 28) Last sexual fantasy: I’ll pass. 29) Last orgasm: That’s not your bidness. 30) Last weird encounter: The ducks and geese at the pond this weekend. Man, the sheer volume of nasty, hissing geese freaked me out. 31) Last Store Shopped at: Staples. 32) Last ice cream eaten: Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream, Friday night. 33) Last time amused: Ten minutes ago, when Spanky realized he could scamper up the boxes of books to the top of the bookcase, and was inspired to howl about it for several minutes. 34) Last time wanting to die: When Fred dumped boiling oil onto my foot the day after Thanksgiving 1997. Not because I really wanted to die, but HOLY SHIT did that hurt, and I just wanted the pain to stop. 35) Last time in love: Right now, of course! 36) Last time hugged: Last night at bedtime, by Fred. Also ten minutes earlier than that by the spud. 37) Last time scolded: I don’t recall, but I’m sure I was scolded by my mother during my trip to Maine. Oh, and via email when I wrote about being scratched by a stray cat and planned to do nothing about it. I GUESS THEY WERE RIGHT! 38) Last time resentful: When I had to wipe up 63,000 tea spills from the kitchen floor, and I don’t DRINK TEA. 39) Last chair sat in: My computer chair, where I’m currently sitting. 40) Last lipstick used: I don’t wear lipstick. I wear Blistex. 41) Last underwear worn: Hanes Her Way Seamless, in black. 42) Last bra worn: Oh, some comfy-ass bra I bought at Lane Bryant. I don’t recall the name of it. 43) Last shirt worn: A yellow scoop-neck t-shirt from Silhouettes. 44) Last class attended: I haven’t got a clue. It’s been years and years, probably 10 years or more. 45) Last Final taken: Probably 10 years ago when I was taking classes at the University of Southern Maine in Portland. 46) Last time dancing: I dance Miz Poo around the kitchen sometimes, does that count? 47) Last poster looked at: Prints at Deck the Walls at the Maine Mall in South Portland. 48) Last show attended: Nothing’s coming to mind. We want to see Le Miz in Nashville this Fall, though. 49) Last webpage visited: The Silhouettes site, to be sure I got the url correct. Before that, My Life in 12 Point Font. * * * Okay, I’m off to the doctor’s office. I’ll add a little note to the bottom of this entry with the verdict when I get back. Y’all have a good one. *Note: I just got back from the doctor’s office. She looked at my foot, told me it almost looked bruised, checked to be sure I had only been scratched and not bitten, asked if I’d had a tetanus shot, and told me I needed a tetanus shot and a prescription of antibiotics. One of the side effects of the tetanus shot (they actually gave me a sheet designed for parents, about the something-tetanus-something shot they give kids) is crankiness, drowsiness, and uncontrollable crying for 3 hours. These next few days should be fun. Any time I act the slightest bitchy, I get to blame it on the shot!]]>

* * * So, for the last few years – it’ll be 4 in October! – I’ve referred to my daughter as the spud. I’m not sure why I gave her a pseudonym to begin with, just the idea of creepy people out there knowing her name, I guess, and it’s pretty much stuck. Except that Fred wrote this book, see, and he had the nerve to use her actual name instead of referring to her as “The Spud”, and so I guess it’s time to out her. Some of you already know her name, but most of you do not. So here we go. Here’s her first name. Danielle. Yes, her first name is Danielle, but her last name isn’t And3rson, so good luck, you stalkers. Don’t be surprised if I keep referring to her as “The Spud”, though. That might be a difficult habit to break. So, Danielle. Danielle, Danielle, Danielle. It feels odd to type her name in this box without freaking out and saying “Oops, wrong name!”, although I haven’t done that in a long time. When she was very little, we called her Dani. When she was in first grade, she decided that that was a boy’s name, and I’d damn well better stop calling her Dani and start calling her Danielle. Which I did, because I am nothing if not an obedient mother. Her father still calls her Dani – or rather “Daaaaaani” – and in the past few years she’s rediscovered a fondness for the nickname. It’s too late for me, though. I’ve called her by her full name for too long, and I don’t think I can revert to Dani, so I’ll be one of those parents who always call their kids by their full name. Fred says that when I call her for dinner, I yell “DanYELL!” Heh. So now you know… the rest of the story!

* * * So, I answered some questions, via email, that a New York Times reporter (who is doing a story on diet blogs) asked, and I provided my phone number in case she had any follow up questions, and now every time the phone rings, I jump and get freaked out. Because I HATE TALKING ON THE PHONE. I have a phone phobia, I think, and it amazes me to think that I had a job (taking orders at LL Bean) wherein I did nothing BUT talk on the phone. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why I hate it so much! * * * 1. What’s the last place you traveled to, outside your own home state/country? Maine! Before that, I was in Gatlinburg, TN. 2. What’s the most bizarre/unusual thing that’s ever happened to you while traveling? Nothing bizarre or unusual has really happened to me while traveling, unless you count the fact that anytime I went near an airport last year, someone was holding me down and wanding me, due to the fact that I look all threatening and terrorist-like. 3. If you could take off to anywhere, money and time being no object, where would you go? Hawaii or Australia, both of which I’d LOVE to visit. 4. Do you prefer traveling by plane, train or car? I prefer the comfort of the car, but the speed of the plane. If I could have a private plane, I probably wouldn’t hate flying so much. 5. What’s the next place on your list to visit? We’re going to Vicksburg, Mississippi next weekend. Fred has to work and doesn’t want to go alone, so the spud will be missing school Friday, and we’ll be back on Sunday. I’ve never been to Vicksburg, and I suspect it won’t be all that exciting. Fred’s going to hit the casinos once or twice, but casinos bore the bejesus out of me. Perhaps I’ll get some reading in – I read 9 books while I was in Maine, y’know. * * * My brother Randy’s dog, Cola. She’s a sweetie. ]]>

* * * I had forgotten what a pain in the ass running a business can be, with trying to figure out how much sales tax to collect, and where to send it, and all that crap. I tried to convince Fred that we should just refuse to sell the book to anyone in the state of Alabama, but he didn’t seem to think that was a good idea. (And I’m kidding, anyway. Alright? Close the email clients, you rabid Fred fans who reside in Alabama.)

* * * The spud got home from school yesterday about 15 minutes later than I expected, I suppose because the bus driver’s trying to figure out where he needs to stop. It cracks me up that she gets home 45 minutes after school lets out, when she could walk home in 10 or 15 minutes. Lazy like her momma, is what she is. So we got together a list of the school supplies she needed, and we ran to Target. We got the last 4 3-ring binders in the entire store. It absolutely ticks me off that we have to wait until after the first day of school to buy school supplies. I know the reasoning, that not every kid in 9th grade takes the same classes, so they can’t provide a single list for all 9th graders, but for the love of god, why can’t the teachers from individual classes email lists to the students they’ll have? On second thought, that sounds like an awful lot of work for the teachers, doesn’t it? Nevermind. Hey, when she’s a Junior, she’ll be able to drive and buy her own school supplies! (The child will be old enough for a learner’s permit in 2 1/2 months. ::shriek!::) She’s taking Spanish this year, which is cool. She’s been interested in other languages for as long as I can remember, so maybe this class will feed that interest. Hey, maybe she’ll become a translator in the military, and if we ever go to war with Spain, she’ll be right in the thick of it! I think it’s more likely that she’ll learn to insult me in Spanish and I won’t know what she’s saying. Damn teenagers. * * * I bought an Olivia Newton-John “Best of” cd while I was in Maine (hey, $4. You’d buy it too, don’t deny it!)(shaddup), and now the song “Country Girl” (not to be confused with John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy”) is bouncing through my head. … a country girl, you know I’ll always stayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…. * * * Damn I love to take pictures of the clouds from the plane. Isn’t the sky the coolest shade of blue? Benji, demonstrating the meaning of the words “baleful look.” I’m fairly certain that this damn seagull is the one who ran up and grabbed part of Brian’s sandwich out of his hand at the beach. Bastard.]]>

entry up in the diet journal that y’all may want to check out – there are pictures and the story of the Hike from Hell.

* * * Miz Poo is wandering around with huge, dark eyes today – we’re putting Atropine in her eyes for the pain, which dilates her pupils – and she just looks kind of glassy-eyed and out of it. She did go out and chase the squirrel up the tree (she’s not supposed to be in the sun with the dilated pupils, because the sun will burn a big hole in her brain, but it wasn’t sunny, so I wasn’t too worried), and she’s been pacing back and forth and insisting on laying between me and the keyboard. I indulge her for 5 minutes, and then I pretend I suddenly need to clean off the top of my desk and grab the can of compressed air and point it at my keyboard, and she vrooms off the desk onto the floor, runs across the room, and then gives me a baleful look. Yes, horrible and mean. I SHOULD be willing to just sit and snuggle all day long, but you know what? I HAVE THINGS TO DO THAT CANNOT BE ACCOMPLISHED WITH A PORTLY POO IN THE WAY. And now she’s started sneezing. Why, god? Whyyyyy? * * * Hm. What was I going to say? Oh! The Sopranos! Did y’all see that Paulie Walnuts was on the cover of last week’s TV Guide? Damn, we love the Paulie Walnuts. It always cracks us up when he makes a joke and immediately turns around and says to someone who was standing there for the whole thing “Did you hear what I said? I said…” The other night we were watching the episode with Meadow and Noah, the one where she meets his father, and Fred – who loathes Noah with a disturbing passion – kept saying “I’m Noah! I’m Sensitive New Age Man! I’m smug and condescending!” Heh. * * * Someone from Miz Poo’s regular vet clinic called today to see if her eyes were better. Instead of saying “Yes they’re better, but no thanks to you!”, I just said that they were and left it at that. Fred pointed out last night that the reason the vet tech gave us that particular medicine is because Miz Poo’s had it before, so they could call it a refill, since she can’t prescribe medicine. But, still. Hmph I say! * * * Did I mention that the spud’s first day of 9th grade started today? She’s not in the high school yet, though, because Madison’s growing so rapidly that there’s not enough room for 9th grade in the high school, so she’s still at the middle school. I understand that they bus 9th graders to the high school for pep rallies and the like, which is pretty neat. It’s kind of a transitional year, where they’re mostly at the middle school, but have some experience at the high school so it won’t be completely new to them next year. She told me at 6:45 that she was going out to wait for the bus. She said “If the bus doesn’t come, should I come back to the house?” Now, we live less than a mile from the school, and I really think it’s ridiculous that a bus even comes through this neighborhood, because I think the middle schoolers should have to walk. But they don’t. I gave her the eye and said “If the bus doesn’t COME, then WALK to school”, which made her roll her eyes at my cruel and uncaring ways and flounce off in a huff. Yep, that’s me. Mean. * * * 1. What time do you wake up on weekday mornings? Usually by 8, except for the days when I have to go feed the cats at the petstore, when I get up between 6:30 and 7. 2. Do you sleep in on the weekends? How late? Yeah, I like to sleep in until 9ish, though if I weren’t married to an early riser who would freak out at the thought, I’d probably happily sleep until noon. 3. Aside from waking up, what is the first thing you do in the morning? Pee, put in my contacts, and take my Synthroid pill. 4. How long does it take to get ready for your day? If I roll out of bed and get ready to go, it takes about half an hour, though I can be ready to go in less than 20 minutes. Sunday, when I got up to shower before we left for the airport, it took me 15 minutes not only to shower and get dressed, but also to finish packing my bag and drag it upstairs. 5. When possible, what is your favorite place to go for breakfast? In Maine (which is the only time I usually go out to breakfast), I like The Country Buffet (I think that’s what it’s called), and in Alabama, I like IHOP. ]]>

here.

* * * I think we’re going to change Miz Poo’s name to Miz Money Pit. When I got back on Sunday, I noticed that her eyes seemed to be bothering her. She was squinting, and also leaking tears pretty regularly. So yesterday I called and made an appointment for Fred to take her to the vet. Fred has to take her to the vet, because when they suggest anything and give me the look like I’d be a horrible person if I didn’t opt for the optional whatever, I cave. Fred does not, and thus we spend less money when Fred takes the cats to the vet, so it’s his job. And as a bonus, they mentally link The Daddy to those horrible trips to the vet and not The Mommy! Anyway, I made a 4:00 appointment for Miz Poo. Fred got home, stuffed her in the carrier box (she makes the saddest little whimper as she’s going into the box), and left. Fifteen minutes later, Fred walked back into the house with a tube of medicine. Miz Poo hopped out of the carrier box and ran around howling loudly, telling us of her woes. When I asked Fred what the vet had said, he told me that the vet was on vacation, so a vet tech checked Miz Poo. This irks me a great deal, because if I’d known that the vet wasn’t there, I would have made an appointment with the backup vet. Miz Poo didn’t need her eyes just glanced at – she needed to have a fluorescein stain done (they put drops in her eyes, turn out the lights, and shine a black light in her eyes to check for corneal abrasions), and the medicine that the vet tech had put in her eyes just seemed to make it worse. Miz Poo had a hard time keeping her eyes open, the insides of her eyelids (do cats have eyelids? Well, you know what I mean, anyway) were swollen and pink, and she just really wasn’t acting like herself. At one point, she sat at the bottom of the stairs and meowed in a way I’ve never heard her meow before. She wouldn’t be held and soothed, and finally she went outside and napped under the bird feeders. She was pretty subdued last night, sitting on Fred’s lap for a while and then mine, then back to his. When we were done watching The Sopranos , I slid the pillow she was sitting on from my lap to the couch, and she turned around and settled back down. She eventually came upstairs, and when I turned out the light she settled on her pillow next to me, rested her paw on my face, and slept for a while. I was just about asleep when she started grooming herself. How, I ask you, is it that such a small cat can shake the entire bed when licking her paw? How? I tried my best to ignore it and go to sleep, but it was too distracting and annoying, so I ended up picking her up and putting her on the floor. I know. Mean. This morning she was still squinty, so I made an appointment with her old vet to drop her off for the day. Just before I went upstairs to take a shower, Fred – who was just leaving for work – took her to the window to show that there was an interloper in the yard. She ran out after the squirrel (we both noticed that she wasn’t running at him as fast as usual), and I went upstairs to shower. When I was out of the shower and ready to go, I looked out the window and saw that she was still sitting and looking up into the tree where the squirrel had run. I brought the carrier box downstairs, opened it and set it by the back door, and then walked out onto the patio. When I called her name, Miz Poo, came running toward me, chirruping happily. I picked her up and she settled on my shoulder, happily purring, chirping, and rubbing her head against my hair. We stayed like that for a few minutes, and then I stepped back inside. Miz Poo continued to purr until she was almost in the box, and then she let out a sad whimper. I am so going to hell. I dropped her off at the vet, gave them the tube of what the vet tech at the other office had put in her eyes (and the lady at the front desk said “Well, this is hydrocortisone based. If she’s got corneal abrasions, this will just irritate her eyes, and she’ll need a different medicine.”), and came home. About an hour later, Fred surprised me with a call telling me to go pick her up, that they were done with her. She did, in fact, have corneal abrasions on both eyes, and they vet showed them to me under the black light. I swear that cat is going to be blind before she’s 10. Since we got home, she has been fairly clingy and talkative, wanting to be picked up and loved and wanting to never be put down. Which made it difficult to haul 88 boxes of books (38 in each box!) into the library without running her over. We managed, though – because how much would it suck if I just spent $150 to fix her this morning, and then she died in a freakish book avalanche? * * * This is the part of the entry we call “Pictures of what Robyn Bought in Maine!”: I bought some stuff at Bath and Body Works, because there’s a store everywhere you turn. I’m limiting myself to sample sizes, because if I buy a full-sized bottle, I get tired of the scent before I’m halfway through it. Except for the bottle of honey-almond shower gel, which was 50% off, so I couldn’t resist. A girl can only be so strong, y’know. At the Big Dogs store in Freeport, I discovered this insulated mug. You can’t really tell from the picture, but it’s HUGE – it holds 44 oz, so I don’t have to fill it up as often. I had to go out and buy tall straws, though, because the regular ones were getting lost in it. There’s a Hallmark store in Brunswick (Cook’s Corner to be exact) that is just the best Hallmark store I’ve ever been in. They have the coolest stuff, and I actually dragged the kids back to the store the day after we’d already been all over it because I decided I’d wanted these chilis. They crack me up, with their goofy expressions. There are vegetables other than the chilis, but the chilis really spoke to me. When I was in Filene’s with my mother, I happened upon a display of a collection of different breeds of The Dog: Artist Collection. (There’s a collector’s page here) I got one of the big ones for Mireya for her birthday, and grabbed this small one for me. It cracks me up with it’s huge head and tiny little body! A magnet from the cool Hallmark store. I don’t know why the magnet pictures insisted on coming out so crappy. “Life is too important to be taken seriously”, in case you can’t read that. I think that should be my tagline, actually. “Bitchypoo. Because life is too important to be taken seriously.” Has a ring to it, no? I love this one, ’cause it’s SO true in our house! A Maine hat. I know I bought one last year, but it doesn’t fit that well, and this one was on sale for $5. Whee! Love this cute little planter! Another buy from the cool Hallmark store. Now I just need to find a plant to put in it. And since all of my plants are too big, I either need to root some cuttings, or buy another plant. This sticker cracks me up. It was designed and distributed by Jeff Pert of Entertain Ya Mania. I love his stuff, and in fact own many stickers and postcards of his. On my bulletin board over my desk, I have this sticker and this one, and I know I have more somewhere. I got this t-shirt from Cool as a Moose in Freeport, and it’s an EYM design as well. Plus, yellow. How could you go wrong? There’s also a Dances with Woofs design (I bought the magnet for my parents’ fridge). That’s right, another EYM design. I should just empty out my bank account, box it up, and send it directly to them, don’t you think? Love the crazy postcards! And yes – Jeff Pert/ EYM again. I bought this one at Cool as a Moose. For some reason the picture and the words together make me laugh. Hee! I love this one so much I made it the picture on my front page, and I’m thinking I may leave it that way for a while. * * * Meh, I say. ]]>

my-god-how-can-these-people-be-so-stupid-and-annoying eyeroll, so either it runs in the family or all teenagers do it. I suspect it’s the latter. Naturally, I also saw my parents, my sister, my grandmother (who is now living in an assisted living home and adjusting well. To me she’s more lucid than she was last summer. My mother informs me that that comes and goes, though), my best friend Liz, my other brother Darrell Randy, and my uncle, not to mention the adorable yapping squirrel-hunting Benji. We had an especially good time Saturday afternoon, when we had a family barbecue. When my parents left to take my grandmother back to The Home, the rest of us sat around and got started on all the “Oh, Jesus Christ!” stories (for the uninformed, that’s what my mother says when exasperated), and laughed our asses off. It was a definite great end to the visit. * I discovered that the ex told the spud that I am stupid. After I stopped laughing, I told Debbie “That would be like me calling Twiggy fat!” Later, I asked the spud what the conversation leading up to the statement consisted of, but she either couldn’t remember or wouldn’t say. The ex’s fiancee stepped up and said “That’s her MOTHER you’re talking about!” and smacked him, so I have to say that I wholeheartedly approve of her, and she’s clearly too good for him. * I burned the top of my forehead, the tops of my knees, and the tops of my feet. This after faithfully slathering a ton of sunblock all over my body every hour on the hour the day we went to the beach. The sunburn on my forehead is now peeling all over the place (the burn went up into my hair), and now I look like I have a seriously bad case of dandruff. However, I have a lovely 6-inch tan in odd shapes on both of my knees. * I had my first alcohol in probably three or four years in the form of a Strawberry Daiquiri at Applebee’s (I went shopping and out to lunch with Liz Saturday afternoon). By the time I was done with it, I was seriously buzzed. I’m a lightweight, what can I say? * Fred went for a walk and found a cat head one day, and was accosted by a stranger another. After writing an entry about the latter, he was inundated (lookit me, ma! Using the big words!) with emails calling him a dumbass and a sucker, and threatening to tell on him to me. Now, just because I’m in Maine doesn’t mean I don’t still talk to Fred 14 times a day. There’s this new invention called a telephone, y’see… And I knew what had happened hours and hours before any of Fred’s readers, because (this may be shocking…) we TALK to each other. We COMMUNICATE about odd and weird events in our lives. Of course he’s going to tell me first, because he’s my HUSBAND, an adult, not some naughty little boy who does stupid things and then tries to hide them from me. How could someone tell on him to me when I already know what’s what? And also, here’s the thing. Sometimes we give money to people who ask (shut your mail client, smartass) and sometimes we don’t. If we have the money and are willing to give it, we do so. The $20 that Fred gave that man Thursday morning took nothing away from us, because we can easily afford it. If he comes back and asks for another $20, we won’t give it to him, and it’s really that simple. If we have money and can help someone in need, it’s not up to us to quiz them to be sure they truly need the money. What happens with that money once it leaves our hands is nothing we can control. And in the end, it’s our money, and we get to decide what we do with it, y’know? And lastly, if in the future you send an email calling Fred names and treating him like a recalcitrant child, don’t be surprised when he responds in kind.

* * * Damn, it’s good to be home!]]>

adorable Frannie and his Tubby shirt. Thirdly, we watched The Restaurant the other night, and it was DAMN good, definitely a show worth checking out. No surprise there, since Mark Burnett’s involved in it. And that cute little Rocco isn’t terribly hard on the eyes, either. At times he strongly reminds me of Benjamin Bratt, whom I’ve never considered all that good-looking before. On Rocco it’s hot, though. Go figure. Fourthly, Last Comic Standing is pretty damn good as well, although I hate that Dave Mordahl (sp?) is gone, ’cause I love him. Dat Phan was a lot funnier last night than the night he beat Dave, I’ll give him that. Lastly, cat pictures: Poo in a hamper! Tubs in the hamper! (And Spot in the cat bed) Same picture, different angle! Spot watching bird. Bird not looking very scared.

* * * I’m out of here for real. See you on the flip side!]]>

this, all I can say is, it’s a crapshoot. Sometimes you do little work and end up with the best kid in the world and sometimes you work your ass off with the disciplining and teaching right from wrong, and you still end up with a monster. Fortunately, I ended up with the former. It’s not always wonderful and it’s not always horrible – for the most part it’s a mix, and sometimes it’s horrible for days with the occasional dash of wonderful, and sometimes it’s vice versa. And you never know in advance which it’s going to be. ‘Cause that’s just life.

* * * Furio from The Sopranos: Strongly reminds me of Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation: Discuss. * * * I have a million zillion things to do today, and I feel like I don’t have time to do them all, although that’s silly. I have a hair appointment at 9:30, have to go by the spud’s school and pick up her schedule, go to the post office, come home and write out the bills that will come due while I’m gone, try to run the vacuum over the downstairs, print out the postcard labels, give Miz Poo lots of love, and god knows what else I need to do. Okay, I’m off to have my hair cut and colored. Ah’ll be bahk. * * * And now I’m back. I just spent half an hour adding people to the Go Fuck Yourself ‘burb. The first order of business when I get back from Maine is to put that page in some kind of order, ’cause it’s just a mess with people listed willy-nilly, and my inner organization queen is having a fit. (I just drown her in chocolate and ignore her most of the time) I picked up the spud’s schedule for next year and wrote out a $175 check for school fees and the like. Did my parents have to pay that much in school fees when I was a kid, or is it just because we live in Yuppietown and the spud is in band? Lordy. * * * We went to the lake by UAH to feed ducks over the weekend. At one point I looked up and saw this coming toward me: Unfortunately, the little bitty babies are faster than they look, and I wasn’t quick enough to grab one and cuddle it and love it forever. Before we fed the ducks and geese, though, we settled down to eat our lunch. I had to keep a wary eye on this guy, though: Because he kept panting at us and wagging his tail, and I just KNEW that if I didn’t keep an eye on him, he’d come over and nip at my ass. I also made sure to occasionally say “You back OFF, mister!” in my Mean Momma tone. Luckily, it worked. * * * I was reading magazines last night, since I’m trying to catch up on my magazine reading before I go to Maine (though I don’t think it’s going to happen), and I came across a picture that made me laugh out loud. It was a picture of Julia Roberts and whatshisface, Mr. Julia Roberts, walking along, and the expression on her face, well, I’ll let you judge for yourself. At first glance she looks perfectly normal, but look closer, and I think the word I’m looking for is “crazed”, because that by hell is a crazed expression she’s got going on. Hee! Damn do I love US. When it was a monthly and then went to a weekly magazine, I hated it and thought it sucked, but now I think it’s better than even People or Entertainment Weekly. * * * Speaking of the entertainment world, we were talking about Katie Couric last night in bed (not in a pervy way. We were both fully dressed, so get your minds out of the gutter), and Fred said something about the colonoscopy Katie Couric had done some years back. “When are you supposed to start getting those regularly?” I asked. “40? 45?” “I think it’s more like 50,” Fred said. “She was NOT 50 when she had it done!” I said. “No, she had it done younger because of Frank.” “Frank?” I said, confused (ie, my normal state of mind) “Yeah, Frank Gifford. He died of colon cancer, right?” “Okay, first of all she wasn’t married to Frank Gifford, that was Kathie Lee, and secondly FRANK GIFFORD ISN’T DEAD!” “Oh.” But I couldn’t leave it alone. “She was married to Jay Monahan. And they had two little girls, one of whom is named Ellie.” You know what I’d like to know? I’d like to know WHY ON EARTH Katie Couric’s late husband’s name and the name of her little girl are burned into my memory. Why? Will I ever need that information again? Can I delete it and replace it with something more important like the location of Liberia and Libya? Please? * * * Alrighty, it’s time for lunch, so I’m going to go eat and then pay bills and do the ten thousand things I still need to do before I leave tomorrow. Expect entries to resume around August 4th (though it could be a day or two later). I’ll try to post to the notify list at least a few times while I’m in Maine. Until then, y’all behave yourselves. If you can’t behave yourselves, email and tell me all about it. And if I die in a huge fiery crash on my way to Maine, you can comfort yourselves with the knowledge that my last word was probably “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”]]>